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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27177541">Water of Life</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/deripmaver/pseuds/deripmaver'>deripmaver</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(not Laurent), Alpha Damen (Captive Prince), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Erasmus has a bad time, Flashbacks, Heavy Angst, Labor and Delivery, Laurent Gives Birth and Has A Bad Time, M/M, Medical Trauma, Medieval Medicine, Mpreg, No one dies though!, Omega Laurent (Captive Prince), Omega Verse, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Miscarriage, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, Vaginal Fisting, but not in a sexy way, everyone has a bad time, graphic depiction of birth, omegas with vaginas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:27:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,805</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27177541</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/deripmaver/pseuds/deripmaver</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Laurent bore the pain of labor stoically, until he didn’t.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince), Erasmus &amp; Kallias (Captive Prince), Erasmus &amp; Laurent (Captive Prince), Erasmus &amp; Torveld (Captive Prince)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>233</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>what do i even say about this fic. the tags rlly say it all: laurent gives birth and has a really, really bad time. there's no MCD, but there is a LOT of blood and medical gore. i watched a bunch of videos about birth and obstetric emergencies and now y'all get to suffer from this new knowledge i've acquired.</p>
<p>honestly this was kind of hard to tag. it's about birth, and it's also about trauma. the actual birth techniques are like. a mix of modern and old time-y - i read a 15c manuscript on women's health and birthing issues but the solutions were mostly like "shove herbs up the woman's vagina" and of course a bunch of shit about humors that i think would ruin the immersion to a modern audience, so i mostly scrapped that. instead i used stuff i saw in like, call the midwife lmfao. this is not historically accurate but thats ok bc historical accuracy is not the point</p>
<p>uhhhhhh thats it. good fucking luck lmfao</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Laurent bore the pain of labor stoically, until he didn’t.</p>
<p>His lips were a bloodless white, his pupils narrowed to black specks so small the icy blue nearly swallowed them up. The only indication he felt anything at all was the occasional twitch of his cold, thin fingers and the slight hitch in his breath when the next contraction hit.</p>
<p>He was beautiful, Erasmus thought. The way he took the pain of labor with such a steady hand, such rigid control, was surely the most wondrous thing he’d ever seen.</p>
<p>“Your highness,” Erasmus breathed, falling back into his well-taught supplication. It was clear why some people became kings while others were slaves, he thought, watching the steady rise and fall of Laurent’s chest.</p>
<p>Laurent nodded at him, regal, blonde and icy as a marble statue in winter. His breath was slow, shallow – so controlled it left Erasmus breathless.</p>
<p>They had been like this for a while, now. At first, Erasmus had been unsure if Laurent was even in labor just from how he acted, but if Erasmus honed his attention to Laurent he could see the signs. Erasmus even managed to get Laurent on his back to check he was opening properly for the baby, which Laurent took with slightly less stoicism than the labor pains – Erasmus’ two fingers inside of him sending an awful spasm that broke through that careful facade, curious and yet somehow painfully familiar, in a way Erasmus’ mind refused to touch, not now. Not when Laurent needed him.</p>
<p>“How long?” Laurent breathed.</p>
<p>Erasmus blinked, demure. “Highness?”</p>
<p>“How long does it take?” Laurent repeated. His eye twitched – another contraction, then.</p>
<p>Erasmus ducked his head. He knew that the answer to this would not make Laurent happy, and ever since Laurent had told him to be brave and something good would come from it, he’d wanted nothing but for this sweet, sad prince to be happy. That really was his greatest downfall, wasn’t it?</p>
<p>“A while,” he murmured, taking Laurent’s hand instinctively. Laurent’s fingers were icy cold where they gripped him, “Many more hours, I think. You’ll feel the babies start to lower, like a pressure against the entrance to your womb.”</p>
<p>There was the first break in Laurent’s composure, but it was gone in an instant. He said, clipped, “I see.”</p>
<p>Dawn was breaking over the horizon. The birthing room was thick with smoke from the candles they’d set up as things began in the pitch-black of night. Etienne stood silent in the corner, barely eleven and with something hard in his gaze – the same hardness Erasmus saw among the slaves that had been ferried away to Patras. Pain hung heavy around the three of them, so thick it made Erasmus’ skin break out in goosebumps. Something unspoken.</p>
<p>“Etienne,” Erasmus murmured in soft Veretian, “Will you mix up fennugreek, rose, and Dragon’s eye together and put it in the baths?”</p>
<p>Etienne wavered between sweet obedience and something harder, biting. He both obeyed orders willingly and hated to be ordered around, especially by someone he saw as below him. What kind of child thought that way, Erasmus wondered. Who was he, and why was Laurent so insistent on him being trained in midwifery?</p>
<p>“Do it, Etienne,” Laurent said, voice a shard of glass. Etienne tossed him a murderous look, but he gathered the herbs and disappeared, silent and dark as a shadow.</p>
<p>Laurent winced, hand spasming over his swollen belly. His composure was slipping, little by little. Medicinal texts said those herbs would bring the babies out sooner – and Erasmus knew the sooner they were out, the better. They had not even truly begun hard labor yet, and Erasmus hated to think that Laurent would suffer the humiliation of showing anyone his pain for longer than was strictly necessary.</p>
<p>“Your highness,” Erasmus murmured, “May I ask you about him?”</p>
<p>Laurent’s expression did not change. “You may not.”</p>
<p>Erasmus ducked his head, flushing, scolded like a little boy by the slave-masters in the gardens.</p>
<p>“Look up at me, Erasmus,” Laurent murmured. His voice was softer, regretful, and he squeezed Erasmus’ hand gently, tightly. Erasmus looked up, allowing a small smile up at the King. A softening so subtle only a slave would know it, indicating his trust in Erasmus had not been broken.</p>
<p>“The bath is ready,” came a sullen voice.</p>
<p>Laurent’s hands were ice cold, in contrast to the warmth of his body, radiating from his belly, as Erasmus helped him in the half-dark to the bathing chamber. Inside, it was steamy and warm, the bath only partially filled so it would lap against the underside of Laurent’s belly. It smelled pungent, sweet.</p>
<p>Erasmus helped Laurent undress quickly, perfunctorily. He knew exactly how to undress a man without it seeming improper, in direct contrast to his knowledge on how to undress a man to excite him. He couldn’t help the furrow in his brow as he saw the massive, purpling swell of Laurent’s belly. Laurent’s hips were so thin, his body so slender – or maybe it just felt that way because he was being swallowed so completely by the bulge of his children. Muscle rippled in his arms as he folded his nightdress and put it off to the side.</p>
<p>He’d seemed so intimidating that evening at the feast.</p>
<p>Laurent stepped into the bath, letting out a low sigh of relief.</p>
<p>“Allow the herbs to settle close to your womb,” Erasmus murmured, in utter seriousness. Laurent looked up at him skeptically, but he spread his legs and gently wafted some herbs towards him along with the lap of the water.</p>
<p>“I hate the baths here,” came Etienne’s tiny, sneering voice. “The ones in Ios are much nicer. I had my own, there.”</p>
<p>“Uncle did his best to keep you isolated, didn’t he?” Laurent murmured, tipping his head back with his eyes closed. His brow was pinched in pain, his hand on his stomach.</p>
<p>“Shut up,” Etienne said, voice cracking. He looked like he might cry. He really was one of the most beautiful boys Erasmus had ever seen – in Akielos, he would have been hand-picked for the slave gardens, with his honey colored curls and green eyes. “It was because he wanted me to know I was special.”</p>
<p>“Of course he did, Nicaise.”</p>
<p>Immediately, Laurent’s eyes went wide, and he jolted upright like he’d been startled from sleep. He looked away, eyes hooded and shadowed, and played absently with the herbs in the bath.</p>
<p>Etienne bit his lip. “Who’s Nicaise?”</p>
<p>Erasmus blinked, confused. There was something he was missing in this conversation, something vitally important. He didn’t like it. It seemed… Dark. Dangerous. When another contraction hit, Laurent gripped his belly sharply, and he hunched forward in pain.</p>
<p>And then the stoicism ended, as Erasmus knew it would.</p>
<p>Suddenly, Laurent was letting out a low moan, curling onto his hands and knees, clutching himself so hard his fingers bit pink crescents into his belly.</p>
<p>“It’s getting worse,” he gasped, not quite able to hide the fear in his voice, “Erasmus, I – what’s wrong? Is there something wrong?”</p>
<p>Erasmus frowned, unlacing his sandals so he could stand in the bath beside Laurent. The water was still clear – no blood. He checked inside Laurent to make sure he was widening properly, and smiled when he did, hoping to be reassuring. Laurent did not seem to take heart, though, brow knit at the discomfort of fingers inside of him, at the pains that wracked his body.</p>
<p>“Pain is normal, your Highness,” Erasmus reassured, “It will happen. Your body is preparing for it to happen.”</p>
<p>“H-hurts,” Laurent said, softly. His eyes were unfocused.</p>
<p>Erasmus took his hand again, cocking his head to the side. “It always does.”</p>
<p>Laurent let out a breathy laugh. The pinch in his brown was getting more pronounced.</p>
<p>“Did no one tell you any of this?” Erasmus breathed.</p>
<p>“They did,” Laurent said, licking his lips absently. “They did. I just… When I was young, I wasn’t thinking…”</p>
<p>“It’s alright,” Erasmus said.</p>
<p>“I didn’t think I’d ever have children,” Laurent breathed.</p>
<p>It seemed to have been forced out of him, and he blinked, as though surprised he’d even said that aloud. Erasmus had no place to ask what Laurent meant by that, and in truth, he was afraid of the answer.</p>
<p>“There’s no shame in showing you’re in pain,” Erasmus said, with an edge in his voice, not just meaning the labor. He hoped Laurent understood. “These things, they… They hurt.”</p>
<p>A shudder went through Laurent. Erasmus put sweet-scented oil on his hands and rubbed them in soothing circles over Laurent’s belly, trying to distract him from the pain. Candles flickered in the periphery of his vision, casting their shadows eerily against the wall.</p>
<p>“It hurts,” Laurent murmured, “It – It really hurts.”</p>
<p>A layer of Laurent’s defenses, peeled away like the waxy skin of an apple. Erasmus breathed, continuing to massage that swollen belly.</p>
<p>“I don’t like rooms full of people,” Erasmus said, softly. “Too much noise scares me. Especially if there are lots of alphas around me.”</p>
<p>Laurent bit his lip, eyes hooded. He understood Erasmus’ insinuation immediately. At his own words, the thick scar on his thigh twinged, as if in response. The scent of burning flesh flashed in front of him, clinging to the back of his throat. It came back to him, randomly.</p>
<p>If he were still in the slave gardens, he would have been discarded like a soiled cloth. Had it occurred to him the first time he’d seen that how horrible such a fate was?</p>
<p>“I’ve only ever felt safe around two people,” Laurent said, in a rush of honesty. “One of them is dead.”</p>
<p>Erasmus swallowed. Laurent did not let his guard down easily, so he wasn’t surprised to learn he wasn’t among those two. “Shall I fetch Exalted? Your labor should be on your terms.”</p>
<p>Laurent’s gaze was complicated. “His mother died in childbirth,” he said, by way of answer. “How can I put him through watching this?”</p>
<p>“Alphas often don’t understand,” Erasmus said sympathetically, earning himself a small smile from Laurent.</p>
<p>The next few contractions had Laurent gasping, groaning in pain. He was hardly open, not at all in the way mothers would be right before the birth.</p>
<p>The whole time, Etienne watched with troubled eyes. If Laurent really knew so little of labor, perhaps it was good that this child was watching.</p>
<p>Laurent clapped a hand over his mouth as the first high-pitched cry of pain burst from him, unbidden.</p>
<p>Erasmus winced. It would be a long, long labor.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Damen did not want to let go of Laurent. Ever since their arrival at the summer palace – very much not during the summer, but this was where Laurent felt the safest and most relaxed – Damen had taken every moment possible to touch Laurent. His hand curled on Laurent’s arm, his shoulder, his belly – their sides pressed together, their hands were interlaced. Even in the bath, hastily put together out of season, they made a special point of stroking toes to thighs or hands in hair.</p>
<p>It was his right as the King of Akielos, as the alpha of the King of Vere. He kept his arm behind Laurent’s back, clenching and unclenching as the arriving procession dismounted: some of the King’s Guard who had been sent to Patras to fetch the most important person for the birth aside from Laurent himself, and of course-</p>
<p>Erasmus positively glowed as he leapt from the horse, radiant and beautiful and happy. He still commanded himself in the old fashion, as most former slaves did. It was only a few months post abolition, and things did not change so easily – his posture was subservient and his steps light as a feather.</p>
<p>An attendant with dark brown curls and brilliant blue eyes stepped up silently to take Erasmus’ pack from his horse, and when Erasmus looked back to thank him, his eyes lingered.</p>
<p>Laurent stepped forward, eyes hardened into that kingly barrier he kept when they weren’t in private. Erasmus turned his gaze respectfully, then sunk into a low pose of total submission, bowing at Laurent’s feet. It was more than just practiced repetition – even in the gardens in Arles, there was an earnestness to Erasmus’ performance, but this seemed to come purely from his soul.</p>
<p>Damen kissed Laurent’s cheek, thinking it was a shame Laurent wouldn’t understand the depth of Erasmus’ affection for him.</p>
<p>“Your Highness,” and then angling himself just so, “Exalted.”</p>
<p>His voice was breathless as he said Damen’s title.</p>
<p>“Stand,” Damen said, watching Erasmus’ body ripple with the command. “And face us as a free man should, Erasmus.”</p>
<p>Erasmus stood, immediately responding to the order. Laurent arched a brow at Damen, who shrugged sheepishly. There was a flush on Erasmus’ cheeks, but it wasn’t embarrassment – perhaps this kind of thing was easier as Erasmus adjusted to their new laws. Commanding him to be free.</p>
<p>“He’s younger than I expected,” came Jord’s voice, gruff and measured. His eyes flashed to Laurent, who stiffened and narrowed his eyes commandingly. Jord was worried. It made sense – Jord had followed his King into battle with the same loyalty he’d showed his brother, and now here Laurent was, facing something Jord could not help him with.</p>
<p>“Slaves are responsible for midwifing in Akielos,” Damen explained, nodding his head. “Though he’s young, he’s been birthing babies since he had the strength to mix up herbs for the midwife.”</p>
<p>“It is an honor to assist in the birth,” Erasmus breathed, head down. “It is how the slaves repay our masters for taking care of us, by birthing their babies in safety and comfort.”</p>
<p>Laurent’s lip curled. He changed the subject, looking sidelong at Damen: “And I heard… There was a difficult birth among one of the slaves in Patras. Thanks to this one’s quick thinking, all of them survived.”</p>
<p>Erasmus’ eyes widened. He said, after a long pause, “Yes.” His voice shook. “Both mother and baby were healthy. He just turned three months.”</p>
<p>Damen frowned. They were not technically his anymore, but he worried about the fate of the Akielon slaves after what they’d gone through in Vere – and a quick calculation brought Damen to the likely date of conception.</p>
<p>He winced.</p>
<p>“What happened?” He asked, turning to Laurent.</p>
<p>Erasmus flushed, looking down at his feet.</p>
<p>Laurent, when he turned to Damen, widened his eyes in surprise, like he was seeing something in his face for the first time. He cupped Damen’s cheek tenderly, scenting him. Damen blinked – he hadn’t even realizes how his heart was pounding.</p>
<p>“He was safe in the end, wasn’t he?” Laurent murmured. Then, after a pause, “Damianos-Exalted, it’s not customary for the alpha to be present for the birth. Can the king of Akielos handle not giving orders for a few hours?”</p>
<p>Damen swallowed. He somehow had forgotten that. He’d somehow pushed the thought away every time it came into his mind. Why had Laurent changed the subject? It was a strange habit he had, which Damen couldn’t quite parse</p>
<p>“You’ll be in good hands,” Damen said, voice wavering just a bit.</p>
<p>Laurent gave him a long, steady look. Something private, meant only for him, and Damen took warm comfort in it. That was the look that Damen remembered from their adventures all those months ago, that made him want to put his trust in him. That made him want to walk through <em>hell</em> with him, because he knew they’d come out of this better in the end.</p>
<p>Laurent said, not taking his eyes from Damen, “Erasmus, you must be tired from the journey.”</p>
<p>“Yes, your highness,” Erasmus breathed.</p>
<p>Damen nodded. “Nikandros, take him to his rooms. Etienne will be waiting for him there.”</p>
<p>Erasmus blinked, smiling. “Etienne?”</p>
<p>Damen started. Ah, yes, that was not an Akielon name. He exchanged a look with Laurent, and Erasmus stood just a little bit taller.</p>
<p>“A ward of ours, the one I wrote to you about,” Laurent said, carefully giving away nothing. “He has no family, and he’s found purpose in helping Paschal and some of the other midwives with medicine and birth in Vere. He wanted to help with my birth as well.”</p>
<p><em>I am the last connection he has to Uncle,</em> Laurent had said, making Damen’s heart stop, <em>perhaps he sees me continuing uncle’s line, in a way he couldn’t</em>.</p>
<p><em>Are you sure, </em>Damen had responded, half joking, <em>Knowing your uncle, aren’t you worried Etienne means to kill you during childbirth?</em></p>
<p>Laurent had laughed, then, bitterly. <em>If he’d been with Uncle for a few months longer, perhaps so</em>.</p>
<p>Erasmus smiled. His eyes crinkled when he smiled, and Damen was glad to see him so happy. It was radiant on his face. Damen had thought that at the fortress, after seeing the sadness in his eyes in Vere.</p>
<p>“I am happy to teach him what I know,” he said, ever sweet and obedient, as he’d been trained to be.</p>
<p>Damen said, “I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful teacher.”</p>
<p>The dark-haired attendant put one hand on Erasmus’ elbow and Erasmus sucked in a breath, though his expression didn’t change.</p>
<p>“Get some rest,” Damen said, softly.</p>
<p>The retinue dispersed, leaving Damen and Laurent alone in the courtyard.</p>
<p>Laurent closed his eyes. He shuddered.</p>
<hr/>
<p>It had hurt so terribly, the first time <em>it</em> happened.</p>
<p>Every time Laurent felt pains between his legs, it reminded him of it. Reminded him of the splitting, the sharpness of his little body yielding, the way he’d gasped and tried to bear it for as long as he could. He’d cried eventually, and he’d been soothed with soft, gentle kisses.</p>
<p>It hadn’t helped.</p>
<p>That came back to him now, as his womb rippled and convulsed inside of him, as his passage widened to allow the babies to come out. It was the pain in his most intimate areas, the uncontrollableness and unceasingness of it all. Laurent could do nothing but clutch at his belly, willing it all to stop but knowing it wouldn’t – knowing he had no way to manage this, that there <em>was</em> no way to manage this. He just had to endure until it was over.</p>
<p>It was strange, how Laurent couldn’t remember the pain from being taken like that, one of the few times his uncle hadn’t wanted him on his knees. He remembered being in pain, but not the pain itself – and yet, all the rest washed over him as vivid as the day it had happened. The sounds, the way his breathing was rough and staccato even though his voice was an octave deeper, the scratch of a beard against his skin, hands gripping his shoulders, that all was there.</p>
<p>It almost seemed unfair to remember everything but how much it hurt.</p>
<p>Something warm and wet gushed down his thighs, and Laurent let out a high-pitched whine of fear. He stared down between his legs, tugging up his nightshirt, and saw blood.</p>
<p>He blinked, and as he blinked, the blood was gone, replaced by something clear that pooled underneath him.</p>
<p>“Did I wet myself?” Laurent breathed, flushing in humiliation. He hadn’t wet himself since-</p>
<p>Erasmus was at his side immediately. Laurent hadn’t heard him approach even those few steps from where he’d been showing Etienne how to mix up the herbs Laurent would need for the afterbirth.</p>
<p>Erasmus was – he’d <em>helped</em> Erasmus. Erasmus was a slave who’d been hurt and Laurent was the only person in the entire goddamn court who at all gave a shit about him, save for Damen. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Erasmus wasn’t supposed to see him like this, to have that veneer of strength ruined-</p>
<p>“It’s just your waters,” Erasmus grinned, expression light, joyful. “This is good, your Highness, this has to happen for the baby to come out.”</p>
<p>There was so much he didn’t know.</p>
<p>The pain in his womb was getting worse, and the next time it hit a crescendo, Laurent whimpered and clung to the front of Erasmus’ shirt. He smelled sweet and warm like spiced apple cider, a perfect comforting scent for an omega midwife to have.</p>
<p>In another world, perhaps he would have learned about omega birthing from his mother, or from his brother’s omega-wife. They would have warned him about the pain, about the fear, about how his past would claw its way up from his belly and wrap around his throat like a noose, strangling him. They would have been here in the birthing room with him, holding his hand, just like he had been for them over the years.</p>
<p>In this world, Laurent was alone, clinging to his midwife who was only here because he saved him from suffering all those months ago. In the birthing chamber was a boy, a<em> child,</em> that his uncle had kept as a pet, mixing together herbs because he’d been crying over babies since he’d bled out his own baby before Laurent’s horrified eyes. How young had he gotten his heat? Had the Chalis done it?</p>
<p>Laurent had to do something for him, so that he’d stop crying, so that he’d stop hating him for taking uncle away. How old would the boy be before he realized what had happened to him?</p>
<p>Uncle.</p>
<p>Laurent lurched forward, sick and shaking in pain. Erasmus made a low sound like the breath had been knocked out of him, and his hands curled around Laurent’s back reflexively. Laurent, to his surprise, found that he liked it.</p>
<p>He didn’t know what it was like. He didn’t know what it meant to come into his own sexuality gradually. By the time his heats had hit him, uncle had long since abandoned him, and he spent those horrible nights screaming and alone in his rooms. The rumors that spread throughout court about his excruciating heats made him want to hide, to encase himself in armor, to pour molten metal over his body until it was all burned away and cold, hard iron was all there was left of him.</p>
<p>That’s what happened in the end, he supposed. Except there was a small, pitiful part of him that beat right close to his chest, that wanted to be loved properly, as an omega should be. He wanted the fantasy – the bonding, the babies, the softness.</p>
<p>Laurent had let Damen see that part of him, and Damen had given it to him, but Damen couldn’t compete with the pain that clawed at him, that bit into his wrists like the iron manacles they’d clamped onto him at the trial.</p>
<p>“<em>You scent has changed, Nephew.”</em></p>
<p>Laurent gasped again. His womb pulsed like a hot brand inside of him.</p>
<p>“I don’t know this,” Laurent breathed, into Erasmus’ warm chest. “I don’t – he didn’t let me. He didn’t let me learn it.”</p>
<p>Erasmus frowned. “He? Exalted?”</p>
<p>“No,” choked out Laurent, flinching bodily at yet another contraction, “<em>Uncle</em>.”</p>
<p>He hadn’t meant to say it. It had just come out of him.</p>
<p>Erasmus’ face was carefully neutral. <em>Too</em> carefully neutral.</p>
<p>It made Laurent angry. He pushed Erasmus away, sinking down onto his hands and knees, panting hard. A terrible, choked sound came out of him, a pressure behind his eyes as he strained against the pain. His night shirt pooled around his knees, wettened by the waters pooled between his legs, and he crawled away from it, gasping for breath. It felt cold, tacky as his shirt pressed against his overheated skin.</p>
<p>Night was falling again, darkness swallowing them, enveloping them like a cloak. Etienne dutifully lit the lamps again, sending flickering shadows throughout the chamber.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” Laurent swore, “Fuck, fuck-”</p>
<p>There was such an awful pressure, a vice against the tender bones of his pelvis. It felt like someone was twisting his insides with their hands, like someone had sliced open his guts and was pulling out his viscera little by little. Like someone was trying to pull them out through his cunt.</p>
<p>He let out a long, low cry. It hurt, it <em>hurt. </em></p>
<p>The baby was trying to burst through his stomach, that must be what was happening. Laurent wanted to take a knife to the distended, purple bulge of his belly and force the damn thing out of him – it wouldn’t be the worst thing he’d done to himself.</p>
<p>He could barely think through the pain. He was so good at managing it, managing pain. He’d outwitted Damen with a gaping shoulder wound and the sickness inherent to early pregnancy – outwitted him and managed to hide from him how he’d vomit up his breakfast, lunch, and dinner practically every day. Why couldn’t he bear this?</p>
<p>Laurent cried out again. Etienne looked afraid. Erasmus said soothing things to him that he couldn’t hear over the ringing in his ears.</p>
<p>He didn’t know how long it went on, stomach throbbing in agony, the baby surely turning his organs to mush inside of him. It was fully dark now, night time black as ink around them. The candles made everything seem suffocating as they flickered and blew with the howling wind outside. Laurent wanted to <em>scream</em>.</p>
<p>“Etienne,” Erasmus said, “Come look.”</p>
<p>Laurent grunted, coming back to himself. His body was drenched in sweat, shirt clinging uncomfortably to his slick back. He didn’t want anyone looking at him there, didn’t want to be exposed like he was. He didn’t want this to be happening to him. Why was this happening to him?</p>
<p>Etienne was looking at his naked lower half, horrified and green with sickness. Erasmus was gesturing right between his legs, saying something about <em>identifying when the birth is about to start</em>.</p>
<p>“Your Highness, how are you feeling?”</p>
<p>Laurent didn’t answer. He panted and buried his head on his folded arms, hips still propped up as he swayed to try to relieve some of the pain. He felt pressure between his legs, like nothing he’d experienced before.</p>
<p>“I can see the baby’s head,” Erasmus rushed to tell him. “I can – Laurent, the baby has curly hair.”</p>
<p>Tears welled up in Laurent’s eyes. He covered his mouth with his hand to stifle the sobs that suddenly overwhelmed him. Curly hair. Damen’s curly hair, dark and plastered to the baby’s head.</p>
<p>“It’s alright,” Erasmus soothed, the smile evident even though Laurent couldn’t see his face.</p>
<p>He put his hand on Laurent’s hip and Laurent jolted forward, as though burned. Through the sweat and the strain, Erasmus’ hand had been so hot against his skin.</p>
<p>“Ah,” Erasmus breathed again, “F-forgive me again, your Highness. You need to push now, the baby is ready to come out. Every time you hit a crescendo of pain, I need you to push.”</p>
<p>Laurent nodded. He could do little else. He was in such constant pain that it was hard to parse exactly when he’d need to push, but he’d try his best.</p>
<p><em>The baby has curly hair</em>.</p>
<p>When the pain got so great it threatened to swallow him whole, Laurent gritted his teeth and <em>pushed</em>.</p>
<p>The strain was immense. Laurent felt it behind his eyeballs, felt tears spring to his eyes as he pushed, pushed, pushed. When he couldn’t push any longer, he took a deep, gasping, shuddering breath. Tears and sweat dripped down his cheeks and onto the floor.</p>
<p>“That’s right, Highness,” Erasmus encouraged from behind him. “Wonderful. Just like that.”</p>
<p><em>How long?</em> Laurent wanted to gasp, to plead. <em>How long?</em></p>
<p>He couldn’t ask, though, because the answer was unbearable. Dignity long gone from him, Laurent let out a wail, pushing again so hard he was worried he might pop like an overfull water skin. He could <em>feel</em> the head just on the cusp of emerging, stuck in him like a dagger in the flesh.</p>
<p>There was a table nearby. He clung to it, pulling himself up just onto his knees, bent over with his thighs spread as if that would help. He clung to the wood so tightly splinters caught into his fingers, sobbing and straining, pushing and pushing until he nearly vomited. The nightshirt fell back over his hips, and he lifted it shamelessly, gripping it so tight it tore.</p>
<p>“You’re doing so well,” Erasmus soothed him. “You’re doing so well.”</p>
<p>It felt like agony. It felt like something large and sandpapery was clawing its way out of his body. As he pushed, and sobbed, and strained, he imagined an animal burrowing out of his guts, chewing through his womb and his passage and ripping him open from the inside out.</p>
<p>How long did it go on?</p>
<p>Laurent was pretty sure he had vomited at one point from the effort, though he hadn’t had anything but sour bile in his stomach. Etienne looked horrified – he’d asked to be here, he cried if they didn’t let him around babies, and puppies, and kittens. Laurent hoped his romantic illusions of birth, of carrying his uncle’s child, were being shattered by the raw ugliness of what was happening in front of him.</p>
<p>He wanted the child to suffer, suddenly and so violently that it frightened him. To understand what being chosen by his uncle truly meant. He wanted-</p>
<p>“It <em>hurts</em>,” Laurent wailed, clawing at his bare arm. Where had his nightshirt gone? “Erasmus, god, I feel like I’m being ripped to shreds.”</p>
<p>“You’re doing so well,” Erasmus assured him, from behind. “Keep pushing, your Highness.”</p>
<p>What a fucking joke. Erasmus staring into his gaping, bloody cunt as he struggled and sobbed, unable to deliver Damen’s child. How many ways did he fail as an omega? Uncle had hardened him, sharpened him – he did not nest, sex and arousal was still a mystery, sex during heats more of an agony than a pleasure.</p>
<p>He wanted-</p>
<p>“Your Highness,” Erasmus said, voice a tiny, tinny whisper. “I’m going to try to help you, alright?”</p>
<p>He was alone. As a child, he hadn’t thought of birth – but if he had it would not have been like this. His mother would be here holding his hand as he panted, though she died long enough ago Laurent struggled to remember her face, and Auguste would be waiting worried with Damen outside the birthing chamber. Maybe they would be drinking and smoking long through the night, just to take the worry away.</p>
<p>Laurent supposed he’d nodded, or maybe Erasmus had just decided to do it, but the next thing he felt were gentle fingers right at the edge of his swollen opening. They were slick with something, maybe even some visceral combination of his own fluids, and then – and then they went inside, along with the baby, and Laurent’s world whited out for a second.</p>
<p>He screamed – he had screamed.</p>
<p>When he came to his throat was sore and he was back on his forearms on the floor, hips propped up. The fingers were tearing him, ripping him in two – but no, no, they were just working in to spread something sweet smelling and slick alongside the baby’s head. First the fingers, then Laurent felt like knives the bony knuckles against the pulsing inside of his womb.</p>
<p>He screamed again.</p>
<p>Laurent was babbling. He was in the cell with Govart again, but this time it was worse, because even then he could keep himself under control enough not to <em>beg</em>.</p>
<p>Back and forth went Erasmus’ hand, back and forth, twisting and slicking up his opening.</p>
<p>If only Govart had known to put his fist inside him and rip his insides out with his bare hands, Laurent would have been screaming like a child, would have given him anything he wanted, just to make it stop.</p>
<p><em>I can’t do this,</em> Laurent was thought, though all that came out was more screaming, sounding small and broken, <em>I can’t – I can’t- Oh god, I can’t do this. Please no more, let it end, let it end-</em></p>
<p>Erasmus stopped. He pulled his hand out, and immediately Laurent stopped screaming.</p>
<p>“Your Highness,” came Erasmus’ horrified voice. “Am I – I’m so sorry, I know it hurts. I know.”</p>
<p>“I don’t like,” Laurent panted, waving behind him vaguely, “<em>There</em>.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know any other way,” Erasmus sounded like he might cry. “Please, just breathe with me. Breathe and push.”</p>
<p>Laurent tried. Erasmus’ hand went back in, and Laurent swallowed down his sobs, his terror, shouting with the contractions like a wild animal.</p>
<p>Then came Erasmus’ voice, dreamlike, “Your Highness, I’m going to need to make a small incision or the baby might tear you.”</p>
<p>Laurent laughed. It sounded horrible, to his own ears, like broken weeping, like the cackling of a lunatic. Erasmus was going to cut him open because he couldn’t even birth his own children. The pain, when it came, was sharp – but it was eclipsed by the pulsing in his gut and the scrape of the baby as it slid slowly, slowly, like nails against his skin.</p>
<p>“Wonderful,” came that soft, terrible voice, “Wonderful, the baby is coming out, your Highness, you’re doing so well-”</p>
<p>Not for the first time, Laurent thought that perhaps it was a good thing that Auguste had not lived to see him like this.</p>
<p>He was still pushing, without conscious thought. The backs of his thighs were slick and warm with something Laurent could not think about. The stinging sharpness from the incision added to the pain as the baby scraped along his insides, Erasmus’ hand still twisting and turning inside of him.</p>
<p>Twisting and turning.</p>
<p>He couldn’t even birth his own babies by himself.</p>
<p>The sharp pain from the incision increased and Laurent imagined himself splitting open, gutted like a fish, his viscera falling onto the marble floor beneath them. The baby was scraping along his insides, taking them out with him. His vision swam with tears and sweat and exhaustion.</p>
<p>“That’s it,” Erasmus’ voice was breathless with excitement, “That’s it. You’re almost done, keep pushing, one more push-”</p>
<p>Laurent closed his eyes and pushed so hard his whole body shook with the effort. Suddenly, like the slip of silk across his skin, the baby slid out of him.</p>
<p>There was minute, momentary relief. Laurent let out a gasping, shuddering breath, sinking down onto his forearms and pressing his cheek into the cold marble of the palace floor, and then-</p>
<p>There was a cry, sharp and high-pitched. A child’s – a <em>baby</em>’s cry. Laurent brought his hand to his lips, tears welling up in his eyes, and let himself sob on the floor as his baby cried in Erasmus’ arms.</p>
<p>It was the most beautiful sound in the world.</p>
<p>There were ugly, squelching sounds coming from behind him and a continuous low throb in his belly. One more baby had to come out, Laurent knew. The flesh where Erasmus had cut him to help the baby out throbbed, hot and swollen, puffed up like a bruise.</p>
<p>“Etienne, help wrap it up for me,” Erasmus was saying.</p>
<p>His <em>baby. </em></p>
<p>It had almost been worth it, the pain. To have a crying, happy baby, Damen’s child – and he’d done that, he’d endured it all. Every awful, terrible moment, and now relief flooded through him.</p>
<p>“Do you want to hold him?” Erasmus breathed, eyes glassy. The baby cried, Erasmus bouncing him tenderly in those sunkissed arms. He looked apologetic. “Only for a moment, it’s not quite over yet.” A playful smile danced on Erasmus’ lips, and he brushed away a slick, damp curl from the wailing baby’s head. “A head this big, he certainly takes after Exalted.”</p>
<p>It was so unexpected that Laurent couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. Flushed with relief, he could have kissed Erasmus, he was so giddy.</p>
<p>The baby was heavy in his trembling arms. The weight caused him to release his scent, and he took one naked wrist across the baby’s wrinkled cheeks. As soon as Laurent rocked him, scented him, he quieted – it was like his body knew just what to do, and the wails turned into soft, baby snuffling and cooing. His vision went blurry and Laurent realized he was crying again, naked and vulnerable and holding his baby in his arms.</p>
<p>He was the most beautiful thing Laurent had ever seen-</p>
<p>And then the next wave of contractions hit.</p>
<p>Laurent clenched, hunching forward. His whole body tensed so that he did not drop the little bundle in his arms, but he let out a cracked, aching groan, nearly vomiting all over the child.</p>
<p>Etienne was there in an instant, because Erasmus was steadying himself at Laurent’s pulsing, throbbing opening again. When Etienne reached out for the child, Laurent snarled at him – and Etienne’s little face flashed with fear. He looked at Erasmus helplessly. Etienne, even when he was snapping and having his emotional fits, always looked so helpless. Had Nicaise looked like that at the beginning and Laurent was just too trapped in his own mind to notice?</p>
<p>“It’s alright, your Highness,” Erasmus breathed, behind him once again. He put a hand on Laurent’s shoulders and Laurent tensed, but did not snap again. “He’ll be in good hands until you’re ready to hold him again.”</p>
<p>Reluctantly, Laurent handed the child over. His blanket was coated in Laurent’s scent, such that even when Etienne took him in his tiny, stick-thin arms, he did not cry, simply cooed and gurgled in a way that made Laurent’s guts twist.</p>
<p>Laurent went on hands and knees again, back flat and belly hanging low beneath him, as he felt the rippling waves of pain again. It had been torture the first time, the pushing, the <em>agony, </em>but he’d endured it, just as he’d endured all the pain since Auguste had died.</p>
<p>Auguste.</p>
<p>Laurent teared up again at that, suddenly. He wanted Auguste to see his babies. He wanted someone to hold him through this.</p>
<p>Damen couldn’t, not when Laurent caught the worried furrow in his brow each time Laurent shuddered in exhaustion. He couldn’t ask that of Damen. It would be unforgivable.</p>
<p>He wanted to though, so, so badly.</p>
<p>This time when the pain crescendoed, Laurent began pushing without needing to be prompted. The baby moved lower in his belly, pushing its way towards the entrance, his incision throbbing as this new force pressed against it.</p>
<p>Something slipped out of him, getting stuck, and Erasmus couldn’t quite stifle his gasp.</p>
<p>“Stop pushing,” Erasmus said quickly – too quickly. “Your Highness, I need you to stop pushing.”</p>
<p>Laurent stopped. Icy, visceral terror pooled in his belly.</p>
<p>“What’s wrong?” He forced out, “What-”</p>
<p>“The baby isn’t in the right position,” Erasmus said. “I need to – your Highness, I need to move very quickly, and I cannot stop. Can you trust me?”</p>
<p>Laurent whirled around so quickly he gave himself whiplash. He was so terrified he felt nauseous.</p>
<p><em>No</em>, he thought, miserably, <em>I cannot trust anyone</em>.</p>
<p>“What’s happening?” Laurent said again, voice sounding miserable and tiny to his own ears.</p>
<p>“It’s alright,” Erasmus soothed him, reaching up to cup his sweaty cheek, eyes flitting down between his legs. Up close, the candlelight made Erasmus glow gold, from his honey-brown eyes to his tanned skin and thick, syrupy burnished curls. He looked determined. “I just need… I need to move him. Please, can you put your faith in me?”</p>
<p>Laurent felt where tears had dried on his cheek. Erasmus moved his hand like he wanted to place it between Laurent’s legs, and Laurent’s heart thundered in his chest as he sat back, the discomfort of the cut chord and <em>something else</em> hanging out of him.</p>
<p>“Do it,” Laurent breathed.</p>
<p>Etienne was right at his side, putting a cup of herbed wine to his lips, scent sour with distress. Laurent drank it deeply, feeling the warmth flushing through him.</p>
<p>It was dark like blood. Had it really been only a few months ago that he’d held a wailing Etienne in his arms as he bled out all over Paschal’s table?</p>
<p>He looked down and saw the blood smeared on his thighs, saw the umbilical chord sticking out of him like his viscera. Erasmus’ hand, just at his opening, was smeared with blood. Laurent could smell it, and suddenly, his legs seemed so much slimmer. It was in the back of his throat, and suddenly the person between his thighs was not a beautiful Akielon midwife, but Uncle. His own voice was high-pitched and quivering in his ears.</p>
<p>Hadn’t he thought back then that it felt like something was pushing his womb open from inside of him? That his insides were being torn apart?</p>
<p><em>Wait,</em> Laurent thought. <em>Wait, I can’t-</em></p>
<p>“Alright,” Erasmus sounded miserable, “We can do this-”</p>
<p>And then Erasmus was pushing the baby back into him, and Laurent started screaming.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>happy halloweeeeeeeeeen have some more body horror and trauma</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The second child was breech.</p><p>Erasmus was breathing heavily, years of training keeping him calm in this moment. He knew twins were far riskier – it happened often that only one would be in the right position. It had been exhausting enough work to birth the first child – Laurent’s hips were so narrow Erasmus had worried the baby wouldn’t be able to pass through.</p><p>Exhausting and downright terrifying. There was something weighing on Laurent, something <em>dark</em>. His whole body clenched with it, his hands shaking, his eyes glassy and lost. When Erasmus had put his hand inside him along with the baby’s head, Laurent had seemed to become an entirely different person, a wild animal caught in a trap.</p><p>Despite the training, Erasmus couldn’t stop himself from gasping when the little leg had slipped out, slick with mucous and blood. Laurent’s whole opening was an angry, inflamed red, like screaming and the clanging of metal on metal, and he oozed blood from the little cut Erasmus had made. The longer this took, the more likely that was to become infected, the more likely the baby was to die, the more likely <em>Laurent </em>was to die. Exalted’s mother, and now his omega? Erasmus could not let that happen, he <em>would not.</em></p><p>And yet, if he worked too quickly, the risk increased as well. If it came down to it, Erasmus would save Laurent over the baby. This choice was his burden to bear – he would not leave Exalted without his beloved, would not leave two babies without their mother. He would not let Laurent die, not when he’d seen Laurent with Exalted at the fortress, Laurent with a shift so subtle that only Erasmus would be able to pick up on it, softer and sweeter with Exalted beside him, like he’d found hope for the first time in far too long.</p><p>When he pushed the leg back inside Laurent, though, it all went so terribly wrong.</p><p>Erasmus was used to screams during labor. It fucking <em>hurt</em>, the way the womb convulsed to push the baby out. It hurt to push the baby back in, and it hurt worse to shift the child into a position where it could be born. He wouldn’t wish a breech birth on anyone, not as things were, with nothing to do but bear the agony until it was time to push again.</p><p>When Erasmus looked up to meet Laurent’s eyes, his heart stuttered – Laurent was looking at him but he wasn’t looking <em>at</em> him. Instead, the blue of his eyes nearly swallowed the black specks of his pupils. Erasmus noticed the sharpness of distress coming from him, cloying and overwhelming, as high pitched noises of terror came from the back of his throat.</p><p>Erasmus shook his head. He couldn’t think about that now, and he gripped the second baby, slippery with blood, by the flesh of his leg. His foot disappeared back into the bloody, gaping maw, then his knee-</p><p>“Uncle did this to me,” Laurent wept, clawing at his cheeks with his bitten nails, “He did this to me, oh god, he’s going to kill me-”</p><p>“The Regent?” Erasmus breathed, “He’s – Laurent you don’t mean, isn’t he dead-?”</p><p>“<em>No</em>,” Laurent shrieked, sounding horrified, pain and misery thick in his voice. “No, he won’t stop hurting me, I told him to stop,” he sobbed, the worst sound Erasmus had ever heard, “Stop, <em>stop, </em>it <em>hurts</em>-”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Erasmus said, overwhelmed with horror, with pain. Oh god, he couldn’t stop. Tears filled his eyes and he blinked them away desperately. Cold crept up his spine, the memory of cold air against the backs of his legs, a hand under his chiton. How inexplicable, that <em>that </em>was what he remembered.</p><p>He couldn’t stop. If he stopped, Laurent and the baby would die-</p><p>Laurent started to writhe and Erasmus lost his grip. Blood splattered onto the floor in front of them, and a low, animal growl rose in Laurent’s throat.</p><p>Erasmus let out calming pheromones, but they just made Laurent writhe harder.</p><p>“Etienne,” Erasmus grasped, “Etienne, help me hold him-”</p><p>Erasmus grasped Laurent’s ankle. It slipped out of his bloody grasp easily when Laurent jerked it with an awful, miserable howl. His hands clawed at his belly, as though trying to rip the baby out from inside him, tears streaming down his cheeks and breath coming fast and shallow.</p><p>Erasmus reached out again, his heart beating like a ticking countdown clock, and when his nails scraped at Laurent’s foot, Laurent kicked out with a shriek of terror. It connected right with Erasmus’ nose. He hadn’t gotten out of the way in time – he’d never been <em>kicked</em> by a mother in labor before.</p><p>It took a few moments for the pain to hit him, the slow trickle of thick blood to reach his lips. Erasmus gasped, wiping at it messily. He reached out again, needing Laurent to stop, the time moving so slowly he could feel each second of it against his thundering heart. Each second was a moment the baby could not afford to lose, the convulsions slowly choking it inside Laurent’s body.</p><p>Beside him, Etienne reeled backwards. He stared at Laurent’s bloody legs, at the bloody baby stuck in there, turned his head, and wretched. He wretched, and when he was done wretching, he took in an anguished breath and began to weep.</p><p>“Get a hold of yourself,” Erasmus hissed, gripping Etienne and shaking him, “Etienne, I need you to get a hold of yourself.”</p><p>It didn’t work. Of course it didn’t work. Erasmus didn’t know what had driven the child to be here, but it was crumbling now. Etienne simply sobbed and collapsed backward, looking up at Erasmus with the same terror Laurent had in his eyes.</p><p>Laurent had taken the opportunity to squirm away, and was now curled up by the table, clutching his stomach and bleeding, labor only half over.</p><p>It would take only a split second for this to become irreparable.</p><p>Erasmus fled to the door to the birthing chamber, pushing it open with such force that some of the wood splintered. The captain of the King’s guard, Jord, was stationed outside in full armor, looking a little green. He took in Erasmus’ bloodstained chiton, his bloody hand, his bloody nose, and the wild panic in his eyes.</p><p>Before he could speak, Erasmus commanded with a voice sharp as steel. “Fetch Exalted. <em>Now</em>.”</p><p>Jord nodded, speechless. Erasmus could tell he wanted to ask a question, so he pointed wildly down the hallway with his bloody hand and shouted again, “<em>Now!”</em></p><p>Precious, precious seconds ticked away as the sound of clanking armor, running footfalls, faded. Erasmus ran back inside, wiping at his nose again, this time with his bloody hand, smearing his and Laurent’s blood all over his cheek accidentally.</p><p>Laurent was weeping, nails making deeper and deeper incisions in his belly, pushing halfheartedly in terror. He did not look up as Erasmus came close, but when Erasmus grabbed his clawing wrist, he snarled and lashed out, sinking his teeth into Erasmus’ arm.</p><p><em>Fuck</em>.</p><p>Erasmus cried out as sharp, feral teeth pierced his skin. It hurt, it <em>hurt</em>.</p><p>He barely even heard Damianos rush in. He only heard the horrified, “Erasmus, what’s wrong? What’s wrong with Laurent?”</p><p>“Exalted,” Erasmus shouted, “Come here <em>now.” </em></p><p>He managed to wrench his arm free of Laurent’s teeth, leaving dark scores in the skin. Blood on his chin, blood everywhere, Laurent truly looked like an animal.</p><p>Erasmus got up and put one hand on Damen’s chiton to stall him. He looked into his eyes – into his eyes, god, he would be put to death for this – and said, “Exalted, I need you to do exactly what I say, when I say it, with no questions asked. Otherwise, Laurent might not survive. Do you understand me?”</p><p>Damen’s voice – the voice of the King of Akielos – sounded small and fragile as glass as he said with no hesitation, “Yes.”</p><p>Erasmus pointed to Laurent. “Calm him.”</p><p>Damen moved instinctively. His scent increased, thick enough that Erasmus nearly choked on it, and he wrapped his arms and legs around Laurent’s tightly curled body. Laurent snarled, and gnashed, but Damen held him firm, scenting him until the little convulsions in his limbs stopped and his eyes became glassy and unfocused.</p><p>Erasmus breathed a small sigh of relief. It wasn’t over yet, but it might be soon.</p><p>He brought over a stool and said, “Lift him up. Hold up his hips and put one of his feet on this.”</p><p>Damen moved Laurent like a doll. He held him steady, supporting his weight, and lifted one leg so that Erasmus could access his opening again.</p><p>Damen said, horrified, “Is that-”</p><p>“It’s the umbilical cord,” Erasmus said, clipped, controlled. “Not his entrails.” Then, before Damen could say anything else, “I need to move the baby into the proper position. Hold him still.”</p><p>When Erasmus gripped the baby’s leg again and <em>twisted</em> it back inside that gaping maw, Laurent screamed like he was dying. Tears were streaming down his face, his expression twisted into something that Erasmus felt in a deep, primal part of himself – like Laurent the man had disappeared and only the raw instinctual brain was left.</p><p>“<em>Hold him</em>!” Erasmus shouted.</p><p>Damen did. He looked like he hated himself, but he did.</p><p>Erasmus continued to twist. The baby didn’t need to have its head down. If he could maneuver it so that the head and feet were level in the womb, the baby could come out that way. The whole while the incision oozed blood, and Erasmus was sure it would split further if the baby came out that way, but that seemed to be the necessary evil because Laurent would not be able to handle the baby rotating completely.</p><p>“You’re alright,” Damen was saying in Laurent’s ear, voice so tender it hurt, thumb stroking gently against his grey cheek, “You’re alright. You’re doing so well.”</p><p>Laurent just sobbed in response, thrashing. He seemed to go in and out of consciousness, eyes focusing and unfocusing, Damen’s voice bringing him back but the terror driving him away again. Damen’s arms were iron around him, still and cold as a statue. Erasmus didn’t even know how much of Laurent was still there, but all he could do was this – twist his hand inside of him, blood and mucous dripping down to his elbow in slow rivulets, and hope.</p><p>Erasmus had been like this once.</p><p>Torveld, lovely Torveld, had wanted so terribly to give him the First Night that had been taken from him. Erasmus had wanted it too, wanted to pretend, just for a moment, that his childhood had not been so cruelly ripped away but rather given willingly to someone who would treat him kindly.</p><p>But Laurent was <em>different</em>! Laurent was kind, and strong, and fierce. Erasmus had seen something in him, a genuine kindness he’d seen in no other Veretian so far, and a steely wall that that kept it hidden deep within him. Laurent couldn’t be like him-</p><p>He felt, among the pulsating insides and slick blood, that the baby was in position.</p><p>“Okay,” Erasmus said, “Okay. Push, <em>push-” </em></p><p>The former Regent of Vere. Erasmus remembered his eyes, cold and icy, not even deigning to look at the slaves as they were tormented by his courtiers. Erasmus had put his <em>soul </em>into his submission, and they took it and twisted it against him. It was funny, the way he wept, confused when he could not follow their impossible orders, how he could not say <em>no</em> even when Govart fucked him right there, in front of everyone, and when he’d sobbed that it hurt and he was a virgin Govart had laughed and fucked him harder-</p><p>Erasmus was crying. He noticed it distantly. Damen’s eyes were only on Laurent’s sweaty face, his muscles beginning to jump and strain with the effort of holding him upright. He did not see – that was good. It was good. This was private, his own burden to carry.</p><p>Laurent was pushing. He sobbed with the effort of it, each push weaker and weaker, even with Damen pleading and murmuring in his ear.</p><p>The slaves were immediately privy to all of the court’s gossip. Erasmus had seen his child pet with his sparkling sapphire earring, who he coddled and spoiled while his courtiers brutalized the slaves, and he’d been sickened anew-</p><p>And Laurent, in the throes of labor, had sobbed for his uncle to stop-</p><p>And didn’t Etienne have one single hole in his left ear, where an earring might go-?</p><p>Erasmus wanted to scream.</p><p>He could not think of that now. Not now. His hands were shaking. The baby was coming out, slippery, warm – Laurent was screaming.</p><p>Damen had tears in his eyes. He wept, openly, still saying those sweet things in Laurent’s ear. Laurent screamed, and screamed, and screamed.</p><p>It was horrible, it was brutal, and Erasmus felt his heart in the back of his throat pounding so violently he thought it might burst.</p><p>In an instant, it was done.</p><p>Laurent, with what little presence of mind he had left, pushed hard enough that the whites of his eyes became pink as his blood vessels burst, and the baby slipped out, wailing its tiny misery into the world as Erasmus dearly wanted to.</p><p>Immediately, Erasmus clamped and cut the cord, the baby placed safely onto a mat beneath Laurent’s legs. Damen let out a breath and, exhausted, both he and Laurent tumbled back onto the floor.</p><p>“You did so well,” Damen half-said, half-sobbed. “So, so well.”</p><p>They weren’t quite done yet. Did Damen know that? Surely he saw the two chords dangling out of Laurent like entrails.</p><p>Erasmus wrapped up the wailing baby. He did not give it to Laurent, instead placing it alongside the other, which had started crying again at all of the noise. Both of them sobbed, and Erasmus let his head hang low as he gathered himself for the last bit of the birth.</p><p>Laurent blinked, leaning back against Damen’s broad chest. He sniffed, as though sensing his alpha’s presence fully for the first time, and he let out a plaintive whimper.</p><p>“I’m right here,” Damen said.</p><p>Laurent said nothing.He looked so small, blinking tears out of his red, swollen eyes. He jolted, grimacing, feeling the contractions that indicated the last bit of birth.</p><p>Erasmus watched it all from just off to the side, swallowing down his bile.</p><p>“Erasmus,” came Damen’s terrified voice, “What’s wrong with him? Is he dying?”</p><p>Erasmus didn’t remember much of his catastrophic “first night” with Torveld. He just remembered waking up hours later in his own bed, Torveld asleep in a chair beside it, the feel of Govart’s bruising fingers on his neck, his arms, his thighs slowly fading like the chime of the hourly bell. How could he explain to Damen what that was like? How sometimes the mind retreated when faced with something unimaginable?</p><p>Torveld had been so kind to him afterwards. Erasmus knew that Damen would be kind to Laurent, too – and yet, he still could not answer him.</p><p>Instead, he said, “Exalted, I need to do one last thing, and I need you to help Laurent through it.”</p><p>In the corner, Etienne watched with bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes. He cuddled himself with his stick-thin arms, looking at nothing. What could Erasmus do about him? He’d been skeptical of Laurent’s excuse for giving him as an assistant to begin with. For all Erasmus loved babies, he had little experience with children once they learned to walk and talk – children who clearly had pain in their pasts especially.</p><p>“Etienne,” Erasmus commanded. Then, when Etienne didn’t move, Erasmus grabbed him and lifted him bodily. Guilt clawed at him, but he could fix this later, and he hissed, “Etienne, go find Kallias. You remember, the nice boy who gave you the doll?”</p><p>He shoved him towards the door.</p><p>Laurent’s eyes were blank, dead, though his chest still rose and fell. His scent was so faint that Erasmus could barely smell it, even with his nose directly above Laurent’s scent gland. Erasmus pressed his belly, touched his thigh, to get him to respond, but at this point Laurent would only come back on his own terms.</p><p>A horrible future flashed before Erasmus’ eyes, Laurent alive but stuck in that strange, omegan inner place, unmoving and unresponding like a corpse. Kept alive by Damen until the end, desperate for Laurent to come back out, please. In some ways, that might be worse than what had happened to Egeria.</p><p>Erasmus knelt before Damen, before Laurent. He said, “Exalted… Can you command his Highness to push?”</p><p>Damen froze. “Do you mean…?”</p><p>Erasmus nodded. “Alpha command.”</p><p>Damen’s expression crumpled. He said, in a voice that shattered Erasmus’ heart, “I can’t. I can’t do that to him.”</p><p>Erasmus licked his lips. “Exalted, in this state, he can’t push. His contractions are weaker. He’ll-”</p><p>“I <em>can’t</em>,” Damen cried, clinging to Laurent’s limp body like a lifeline. “He’d… He’d never forgive me.”</p><p><em>I can’t. He’d never forgive me</em>.</p><p>Erasmus understood. God, he <em>hated it</em>, but he understood.</p><p>He tugged gently at the twin chords spilling out of Laurent like viscera. He couldn’t risk the afterbirth staying inside as Laurent slowly closed, trapped, bleeding out until Laurent was drained and dead.</p><p>“Okay,” he whispered, “Okay. Exalted, your Highness, please trust me a little bit longer.”</p><p>Damen nodded. He looked like a child, wide brown eyes wet with tears.</p><p>“Exalted,” Erasmus said, “I need you to bite his bonding mark and not let go until I say so.”</p><p>Damen nodded again. His eyes took on a glint of steely determination.</p><p>“Okay,” Erasmus said, “Do it.”</p><p>Damen bit down. Laurent jerked like a pulled marionette, and with two fingers holding the chords to the side, Erasmus stuck his whole hand inside him.</p><p>Laurent went wild again, eyes wide, all white and bloodshot. He screamed, growled, snarled – his instinctual mind reacting to keep him safe. Again, Damen’s tanned arms were around his chest, holding him tight, and blood dripped from the bond mark as Damen sunk his teeth in deeper.</p><p>Biting Laurent’s bond would provide one final rush of pheromones into his body, letting him survive this, calming him for what needed to be done.</p><p>Erasmus hated himself for this. He <em>hated</em> himself. If Laurent remembered even a single moment from his labor, he would hate Erasmus too. He’d have Erasmus put to death and Erasmus would go to the gallows without even a protest.</p><p>Laurent was weeping openly again – Damen was weeping openly. Blood and saliva dripped down his chin as he did what he was told, clenching onto Laurent’s neck like a pup latched onto his mother’s breast.</p><p>How could Erasmus live with himself after, knowing what Laurent’s uncle did to him, shoving his whole fucking hand inside him when every movement told him Laurent was desperate to get away? But Laurent would fucking die if he didn’t do this! He would die!</p><p>The first afterbirth squelched out of Laurent with a gush of blood. Damen’s eyes widened in utter horror, he lurched as though to vomit.</p><p>“Don’t let him go,” Erasmus said again. “Keep biting. <em>Keep biting</em>.”</p><p>Birth was such an ugly, messy thing. In the slave gardens, it was the only thing that was <em>real, </em>the blood, the screaming, the afterbirth pulsing and red.</p><p>It was what Erasmus came back to after his time in Vere. Suddenly, he had been forced from relative comfort into something horrible, and violent, and ugly, and he’d hated it. He still woke up in the middle of the night because every moment there had clung to him like morning frost to a dying blade of grass. There was comfort in what he knew, in the ugliness of it. There was comfort in the baby he’d delivered from the first of the slaves, and there was comfort in the baby he’d helped bleed out of the second before its heart even had a chance to beat.</p><p>Laurent’s body seemed to swallow him up. Erasmus did not like Veretians, except for this one. Of all the Veretians he knew, this was the one who deserved pain the least, and who Erasmus was hurting in a way that must be intimately reminding him of his past. The pulsating warmth of the inside of Laurent’s body clung to Erasmus like a barnacle to the rocks, the rippling of his womb fluttering against his bloody fist.</p><p>The second afterbirth splattered alongside the first onto the marble floor, and then it was done.</p><p>After everything, in an instant it was done.</p><p>It was the same silence that came immediately after the swing of the executioner’s sword, a rush of breath let out all at once.</p><p>“Alright,” Erasmus whispered. He wanted Damen to run his sword through his beating heart. “You can let him go.”</p><p>Damen did. Saliva and blood dripped all down his chin. He looked like a wild animal, and for a moment Erasmus wanted to beg Damen to hurt him like he’d just hurt Laurent.</p><p>He never would. Damen, who wept at the idea of forcing his husband just to <em>push, </em>could never hurt him.</p><p>“Put him on the bed,” Erasmus nodded to the soft pallet, which Laurent had staunchly stayed away from during the birth. He was like a doll when Damen picked him up, light as a feather, limp as rags.</p><p>The silence was deafening after all of the screaming. Erasmus mixed up the poultice Etienne had been working on earlier – messy, too thick – and brought it over. Damen watched in grim horror as Erasmus sewed Laurent closed, careful and precise, before stuffing rags soaked in the poultice between his legs.</p><p>The whole while, Laurent said nothing, eyes half-open and glassy with tears. Erasmus didn’t even know if he could respond. With great sadness, Erasmus noticed the liquid dribbling from his chest, his body producing milk to feed the babies.</p><p>At Erasmus’ indication, Damen brought the blanket up to cover Laurent’s body up to his chin, so tenderly Erasmus could cry.</p><p>“Exalted,” Erasmus breathed, “Would you like to hold your children?”</p><p>It was bittersweet.</p><p>Damen took both twins in his arms, their heads so small in his overlarge hands. As his own scent washed over them, the both retreated to soft cooing sounds, no longer alone and crying in fright.</p><p>He looked like a father, like the softest, sweetest alpha Erasmus had ever seen.</p><p>“Here,” Damen said, taking the babies over to where Laurent was lying half awake on the bed. “Look at them. Aren’t they beautiful, Laurent?”</p><p>Laurent was silent for a very long moment, and Erasmus’ heart dropped. Damen closed his eyes, allowing a few, private tears to fall.</p><p>Then, in a voice softer than a summer breeze, Laurent breathed, “Damen?”</p><p>Damen smiled. He smiled, and he wept, gripping Laurent’s icy hand. “It’s me, love.”</p><p>“They’re beautiful,” Laurent whispered. He sounded heartbroken.</p><p>“Erasmus,” Damen said, a little louder. “Leave us.”</p><p>Everything was up to Laurent, now. They’d call him if his presence was necessary.</p><p>Erasmus bowed deep. He had practiced for nearly a decade on the proper way to enter and leave a royal chamber, and it was ingrained in his muscles. He couldn’t have gone any slower or faster if he tried.</p><p>He needed a bath. He needed to sleep. He needed <em>food</em>.</p><p>God, Erasmus felt like a mess. He felt empty. He’d put his hand inside Laurent while Laurent had screamed and thrashed and sobbed.</p><p>He almost wanted someone to beat him, like he was in Vere again. Laurent had saved him, and he’d saved Laurent in turn, but-</p><p>It was alright. Damen was there for Laurent, there to fix what Erasmus had done. He thought that Damen must be so good for Laurent, so patient, so kind – and he allowed himself a private moment of grief for the life he never had. He would have been so happy, so naive as Damen’s slave. Perhaps it would have been better to have those moments of happiness and die along with the rest of Damen’s retinue, not live with this painful, shameful burden.</p><p>Laurent’s <em>uncle</em>. It was so horrible that it made the breath freeze in Erasmus’ throat. How old had Laurent been? The regent of Vere, the boy-fucker. He must have been – he’d been a <em>child</em>.</p><p>Erasmus’ legs collapsed underneath him. It was empty in the hallway, and so Erasmus leaned his filthy, bloody body against the wall.</p><p>It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair. Why had this happened to him, to them? Why had Govart chosen him? Why had he <em>laughed</em>? Why couldn’t Laurent be happy with his babies and Damen and forget about all of the suffering he’d gone through? If Laurent couldn’t, wasn’t it hopeless for him, too?</p><p>Erasmus would never know why, would he? He’d never know why, but every day he’d live to suffer the consequences of it. That was somehow the hardest thing of all.</p><p>He was so, so tired. He curled his arms around himself and, just like Etienne in the birthing chamber, began to weep.</p>
<hr/><p>It could have been minutes, or it could have been hours. Erasmus only knew that it was still night time when a soft hand took his and a soft voice said, “Come, sweet thing, let’s get you a bath.”</p><p>The birth had lasted about a day, it seemed. He was brought to the chamber in the dark of night, and he’d left it then too.</p><p>The light was orange, thick as smoke, from the few torches lining the walls. In the baths, the slave’s baths, it rippled on the water.</p><p>Etienne was there too, blinking sleepily against the wall, cuddling a little doll beside a hastily outfitted wood burning heater, the same kind that had been brought from Ios for sparing use in the most important rooms in the summer-palace-in-early-spring.</p><p>The water steamed up in the deep bathing pool, and Erasmus was suddenly overcome with memories of his early childhood, sinking down into the baths to his ears and not getting out until his whole body was wrinkly like a date.</p><p>“Oh no you don’t,” came the same soft, playful voice, tugging him away from the water, “You know you can’t submerge until you wash all that off.”</p><p>Erasmus blinked. He looked down at his filthy hands, covered in ruddy brown blood that flaked when he clenched and flexed his fingers. He huffed out a laugh. “You always look after me, Kallias.”</p><p>Kallias squeezed his elbow gently. When Erasmus turned to face him, he was so warm and familiar that it took his breath away.</p><p>He laughed and said, “Etienne was a good boy and already washed up, so he can go right in.” He frowned, a little sad. “Does dolly want to go in too? It looks like he got a little bit dirty.”</p><p>Erasmus turned to Etienne, who was slipping unashamedly out of his fresh chiton, like someone used to being directed to undress. His doll was now splattered with something that looked black in the flickering torchlight, especially in and around its legs. Erasmus brought his hand up to stifle his gasp, his retching – forgetting, of course, that it was covered in blood – and he took in a lungful of thick iron.</p><p>Kallias’ hand was on his lower back, now. His scent emanated from him, warm and rich like honey and ginger in the winter, and immediately Erasmus calmed. It was just like he was back in the gardens.</p><p>“What happened to him?” Kallias asked Etienne cautiously. Then, businesslike but still playful towards Erasmus, “I can’t rinse you if you’re still in you’re clothes, silly thing.”</p><p>A lump rose in Erasmus’ throat, though he didn’t know why. It was so familiar it hurt. How could he let Kallias treat him like this when he was so different, so much more jaded?</p><p>Still, though, he stripped off his bloody chiton and unlaced his shoes until he stood bare in the room, busying himself enough to nearly miss Etienne’s response of, “He just had a baby.”</p><p>“Wow,” Kallias said, voice high with wonder, “A baby.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Etienne said, uncaringly. He threw the doll across the room. “Maybe he’ll die.”</p><p>Erasmus flinched, full bodied.</p><p>Kallias put his hand on Erasmus’ now bare shoulder. He murmured, “I’m going to start rinsing you now.” There was the sloshing of water, and the sudden shock of warmth pouring over Erasmus’ back. In the same put-on voice as before, Kallias said, “I hope not. That would be very sad, don’t you think?”</p><p>Etienne shrugged. He blinked slowly, sleepily, arms cuddled around his knees under the water.</p><p>Kallias sloshed more water over Erasmus’ shoulders from behind. Erasmus wrung and scrubbed his hands together, watching the brown, dried blood redden and flow down him in thin pink rivulets, then down the sloped floor to the drain.</p><p>“You used to hum to me while you did this,” Erasmus murmured, half to himself.</p><p>The first slosh of water over his head made him jolt, and Kallias teased, “I did, didn’t I?”</p><p>His hands more or less clean, Erasmus wiped the blood from his face. His nose smarted, but he didn’t think it was broken. And anyway, maybe he’d be happier if he were uglier. Maybe none of this would have happened – would not happen again.</p><p>Kallias began to hum as he rinsed him, something nostalgic and soft. Etienne watched them sleepily the whole while, looking so much more at peace than he had in the birthing room.</p><p>“I think you’ve rinsed enough,” Kallias said. He pressed a cut silver of soap into Erasmus palm with a soft smile, and Erasmus sunk into the baths gratefully.</p><p>He hummed again, sitting on the edge of the baths and dipping his painted does into the water, looking so warm and gentle in the flickering torchlight. His eyes were half-lidded, dark lashes nearly brushing his cheeks.</p><p>It was a miracle to be clean again. Erasmus could not remember the last time he’d felt such relief, as he brought the sliver of soap under his arms and between his legs. Once the cleaning was done – perfunctorily though still complete – Erasmus sunk down into the baths with a deep sigh.</p><p>When he opened his eyes again, Kallias was still humming, rocking the splattered doll back and forth. Etienne was watching him suspiciously.</p><p>“I think he deserves to be treated kindly,” Kallias said, “Don’t you?”</p><p>Erasmus wanted to cry. He sunk under the water and blew out bubbles beneath the surface to stop himself from screaming.</p><p>Without the itch of blood covering his body, his exhaustion caught up with him. Kallias seemed to sense it, and he took Erasmus’ hand to help him out of the bath.</p><p>Etienne was put to bed. He looked so small, tucked up in that massive bed, all alone. He blinked up at Erasmus and Kallias before falling right to sleep from pure exhaustion, as though he expected – wanted? - them to curl up in bed with them.</p><p>Before he could work himself up about it, though – as Erasmus was sure he could – his eyes were blinking shut, and Kallias was pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. Then he was asleep, and Erasmus found himself in his own rooms.</p><p>Erasmus felt so full of secrets he thought he might explode. That was the life of a slave, and even though he was not a slave anymore, it was hard to change.</p><p>He could not stop himself, though, from saying, voice cracking, “Kallias.”</p><p>“Yes?” Kallias said, cupping his cheeks like he used to when they were young, “Yes, sweet thing?”</p><p>Erasmus could not help himself. After it all, being called that hurt so much, even though he’d preened at the nickname as a child. Each time was like a shard pushed even deeper into him. He sobbed, “I’m not a <em>thing</em>.”</p><p>Kallias’ eyes turned sad. He whispered, “You’re not a thing. You’re a person, who is brave, and strong, and sweet. Shall I call you <em>darling</em> instead?”</p><p>He did not feel brave, or strong, and he could not begin to process that last bit in his exhausted, hyperemotional state. Changing the subject abruptly, Erasmus choked, “Etienne. The child. The former Regent of Vere raped him.”</p><p>
  <em>And he raped Laurent too.</em>
</p><p>Kallias’ face flickered. His hand dropped by his thigh, and if it were anyone else, Erasmus would have thought the slight brush against the raised scar tissue on his leg was accidental.</p><p>“I know,” Kallias said, simply. “Or not. I did not know who, but I knew he’d suffered some kind of violence.”</p><p>Erasmus could not think of how to respond to that.</p><p>As if sensing his question, Kallias continued, “He acts it out on the doll. I suppose no one is with him enough to notice.”</p><p>The dam broke. Erasmus sobbed, clutching Kallias’ chiton like a child at his mother’s breast, burning with the unfairness of it all. They’d shared their fears, their worries about the future in the gardens as children, but not like this, not so <em>raw</em>.</p><p>“Will you stay with me tonight?” Erasmus pleaded, warm in Kallias’ arms. “Just for tonight. I want – I want it to be like before.”</p><p>“Of course,” Kallias murmured, lips pressed into Erasmus’ burnished honey-soft curls, “Of course. Just like before. Darling.”</p><p>Darling. Just like before, but without the bad parts. He started humming again, memories washing over him like warm sunshine on a summer morning. It was nice.</p><p>Erasmus wished it had never ended.</p>
<hr/><p>Laurent’s world came in and out of focus. He felt soft, and fuzzy, and warm. The only thing that broke that was alpha’s sweet scent washing over him, a blanket that he wrapped around himself, giggling and toes curling as alpha’s curls tickled his cheeks.</p><p>Sometimes, there was a warm weight on his breast. Two sweet scents that were so familiar it was like he’d known them his entire life. There were babies drinking from him, and alpha, and softness.</p><p>And then it would end, the darkness crashing down around him like the storm-tossed waves, and he’d scream until his throat was raw and bleeding, the throbbing pain between his legs sharp and everpresent.</p><p>When the sweet alpha’s scent left him, he wept for it, reaching out with trembling fingers. The weights on his chest were tight like a vice until someone took them away. He heard voices,<em> I’m still here, baby</em>, but he could not smell his alpha, and he cried and cried, icy cold and afraid. He did not know what time it was, or even how many days had passed. His mind was fuzzy and incoherent.</p><p>Maybe it was better that way.</p>
<hr/><p>Five days after the birth, Etienne and Erasmus were summoned to the king’s bedside. He was pale, and drawn, and cold and bloodless as an icicle. His long white sleeping gown seemed to swallow him up, the same way the blue of his eyes swallowed up his pupils.</p><p>He looked feral. He looked dead.</p><p>Erasmus could not get Laurent’s voice, begging his uncle not to hurt him, out of his head.</p><p>Laurent turned to him and Erasmus felt a sharp stab of terror. He said, simply, “You had Damen hold me down.”</p><p>Erasmus sunk to the floor immediately. He could not help it – supplication was easy, as natural for him as breathing. He bowed so low his forehead touched the earth, hands stretched out in front of him.</p><p>Speaking right from his soul, he whispered, “Forgive me, your Highness. You would have died if you had not finished birthing the babies.” He closed his eyes, feeling the burn of tears. He meant every single word from the depth of his heart as he continued, “I accept any punishment from you. If saving your life means the end of mine, I will go willingly.”</p><p>“No,” Laurent sounded sick. “No – no! Get up, get <em>up</em>, I can’t stand this.”</p><p>Erasmus stood, head bowed, looking down at Laurent’s bare feet. This was kind of Laurent, he reminded himself, not to punish him. Or, was it? If he could not serve perfectly there was no point-</p><p>“I forget, sometimes, that your mind was gone long before you ever came to Vere,” Laurent said, in a voice that did not seem human. “And I wonder how I could have ever put my faith in someone who cannot think for himself.”</p><p>There was a long, awful pause. Erasmus could not process the words Laurent had just said.</p><p>Laurent continued, voice flat with fury, “If either of you breathe a word about the birth to anyone, I will cut out your tongue myself.”</p><p>Erasmus said nothing, the words finally hitting like a punch in the gut. No one had ever made him feel more like a <em>thing</em> than Veretians, but it hurt terribly coming from someone like Laurent. Still, though, it was in his nature to take pain silently. Maybe this wasn’t really happening, maybe he hadn’t really meant that. Laurent looked terrified, and Erasmus knew cornered animals bit the hardest. And yet, he could not help but be reminded of how much he’d wished, in Vere, that he’d been mistaken about what was happening to him. That they simply didn’t understand.</p><p>While Erasmus was thinking, Etienne had the typical reaction: he burst into tears.</p><p>Laurent’s eyes widened, as though surprised. Etienne stood there, weeping, unable to move because he had not been dismissed. Much like Erasmus, he could do little without a direct order. He just… Stood there.</p><p>When Laurent reached out, though, hand trembling like a leaf blown by a thunderstorm, Etienne fled.</p><p>Did Laurent really look so surprised? What had he expected to happen?</p><p>Erasmus closed his eyes, pained.</p><p>It could not end this way.</p>
<hr/><p>“<em>I’ve heard that the King isn’t seeing his </em><em>pups,</em><em> that they’re in an entirely different wing of the palace.”</em></p><p>“<em>Yes, they’ve brought in a wet nurse from the surrounding village to feed them. Isn’t that odd?”</em></p><p>“<em>I mean, they’d probably do that anyway. Can’t have the king ruining his tits, can we?”</em></p><p>“<em>Yes, Claudia, but I’ve heard he hasn’t seen them at all </em><em>once they were moved to the nursery</em><em>. </em><em>The servants say he just lies there in his bed like a corpse, staring at nothing. They say whenever they come in he tries to pretend like he wasn’t crying.” </em></p><p>“<em>Was he injured during the birth? Did he get sick after? Did the babies get sick?”</em></p><p>“<em>Maybe there were more than two but only two made it out. Like puppies, you know?”</em></p><p>“<em>Exalted is with the pups all the time.”</em></p><p>“<em>Exalted is such a wonderful alpha.” </em></p><p>“<em>It’s a shame Exalted’s omega turned out like this, isn’t it? They seemed so happy.”</em></p>
<hr/><p>A week passed quietly, painfully.</p><p>(<em>“</em>Your Highness, Etienne’s a <em>child</em>.”</p><p>“Capable of a fight after all?” Laurent sneered. “It would have been worse for him if he’d told someone. This way he won’t. He can’t afford to make mistakes.”)</p><p>Erasmus held the larger twin in his arms, rocking him, cooing at him. A week, and the babies were healthy. They were round, and soft, and exactly what he imagined Exalted must have looked like as a child, albeit slightly lighter and with soft blue eyes – so perhaps maybe a little like Kallias as a child. Kallias was so slender, though, it was hard to imagine him as fat as the twins as a baby.</p><p>He heard the soft footfalls behind him, smelled Kallias’ scent like a warm embrace. Rather, he heard Etienne’s footfalls – Kallias had been trained to step silently, unobtrusively. The doll hung from Etienne’s hand, the red stains faded. He must have taken wine, or some kind of berry to it after he’d fled the birthing chamber that night, and then meticulously tried to clean them out.</p><p>(“He needs help. I know – I know what the regent did to him. I remember him from the feast, with Prince Torveld – he looks different without the makeup, but-”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Erasmus blinked. “What?”</p><p>Laurent was ice. Erasmus had heard rumors of his temper, of his coldness, but he’d always been able to see beyond it, because it was not directed at him. Now it was, and it <em>hurt</em>.</p><p>“You don’t remember him from the feast. That was his predecessor, the child my uncle had before him,” Laurent looked right through him, eyes like steel, “My uncle sent me his severed head in a bag when I took up arms against him.”</p><p>Erasmus went ice cold.)</p><p>Erasmus held one baby, Kallias the other, and Etienne the doll. He watched them out of the corner of his eye, pretending he wasn’t, but he shifted his position to support the doll’s head as he rocked it too. It was quiet. Kallias’ eyes were bright and intelligent, sparkling as they watched him, assessed his complicated mood.</p><p>Kallias had always been like that. It was a shame that Erasmus was so different, now, so much harder to read.</p><p>(Laurent gripped the shoulder of Erasmus’ chiton with one cold, spasming hand. The tremors hadn’t stopped since he’d given birth.</p><p>He hissed, “Don’t you ever speak to me like you understand what the child went through, what my uncle was like.”</p><p>It was dangerous. It was suicidal. Erasmus burst out, voice cracking, “Of course I know what the child went through. You <em>know</em> I know what the child went through, because you’re the one who saved me from it. Do you think my mind so broken that I don’t know I was raped?”</p><p>It wasn’t quite the same. Erasmus had just turned seventeen when he was sent to Vere. He was an adult by some standards, practically one by most others, but still sheltered enough that the minute he arrived in Vere his entire world had crumbled around him, like sand he clutched in his hands.</p><p>Laurent reeled back as though he’d been hit. He looked truly ill, truly fragile, sad and small and alone.</p><p>He snapped. “Get out.”</p><p>Erasmus swallowed. He could barely believe himself. He said, “Your Highness, forgive me-”</p><p>“Does an order from the King of Vere mean nothing anymore? I said <em>get out</em>.”)</p><p>“Darling,” Kallias said, running his fingers through Erasmus’ curls gently. Erasmus arched his back, leaning into the sweet sensation. “What are you thinking of?”</p><p>Years ago, Erasmus would have answered immediately. Now, though, his mind reeled.</p><p><em>I am thinking of how Laurent’s uncle fucked him, </em>Erasmus thought, but wouldn’t dare say. <em>I’m thinking of how Laurent cried about it as he gave birth, how I saw something sad in him the first time he spoke to me but I somehow never imagined this. How I wish I could be the same Erasmus you knew in the gardens, unhindered by the darkness of the world around me. How-</em></p><p>(Erasmus would have been beaten bloody if he dared do this in the slave gardens. Positive reinforcement was used most often, but deliberate disobedience when faced with a direct command, brought upon not by fear but by insolence, was worse than physical blemishment to the trainers.</p><p>He stopped at the doorframe, turning to face Laurent with tears in his eyes, and whispered, “How long does it take, your Highness?”</p><p>Laurent, shocked enough to respond, hissed, “What?”</p><p>“I still wake up in the middle of the night thinking of it,” Erasmus said, voice thick in his throat, tears burning at his eyes. “How long until it’s <em>over</em>?”</p><p>Laurent looked horrified. He looked like he might be sick. His eyes were big and blue and watery, like a child’s.</p><p>He bodily pushed Erasmus through the door and slammed it behind him, leaving Erasmus alone.)</p><p>“I am thinking,” Erasmus said, “That I am so, so tired.”</p><p>Kallias’ touch stilled, just for a moment. Erasmus hadn’t realized at the time, but he recognized the sadness in Laurent’s eyes because it’s what he’d seen in Kallias’ all those years. When it started again, it was softer, hesitant, a little shy.</p><p>Kallias whispered, “I’ll never forgive myself for what happened to you in Vere.”</p><p>Erasmus leaned into him. He thought, <em>You too? </em>And <em>do </em>you<em> know when </em><em>I’ll finally be at peace again</em><em>?</em></p><p>And then a voice came from behind them:</p><p>“Isn’t it hard enough to only blame yourself for the things you <em>know</em> you’ve done?”</p><p>Erasmus, Kallias, and Etienne all jumped about a foot into the air and whirled around to bow, as fast as they could while still holding the babies safe and comfortable.</p><p>This must have been the first time Laurent had made the trek to this makeshift nursery to see his newborns, and he’d evidently done it trying to stay as quiet and unobserved as possible – he’d done well, then, from an adolescence marred by sneaking around, secrecy, and terror.</p><p>Erasmus and Kallias put the babies back in their cribs and turned to face Laurent.</p><p>Kallias said nothing. His face was carefully placid – he had not forgiven Laurent for threatening Erasmus. He looked like a statue, beautiful and cold as marble.</p><p>Laurent, for his part, looked like the walking dead. He was still dressed in nothing but a long nightshirt, wrapped in a thick robe, wearing thick woolen socks that tied just below the knee. His expression was haunted, his eyes still and glassy and so, so sad – an entirely different person from the viper in the chambers, but somehow exactly the same.</p><p>“How are you feeling, your Highness?” Erasmus murmured, trying to break the tension. He was still unhappy with Laurent, but in his nature was an inherent desire to maintain calm.</p><p>“Hurts,” Laurent said, swaying gently before steadying himself. “Feels puffy, hot.”</p><p>His hand clenched just below his navel unconsciously, and Erasmus knew he meant his healing, tender opening.</p><p>Laurent continued, flushing in embarrassment, “My husband cares for me at night and in the mornings. Puts on those herbs you left for him.”</p><p>His arms wrapped around his body, unsure. His hands were still trembling. They had not stopped since the birth.</p><p>He raised his voice, slightly. “I did not think you would be here. You have no duty to me.”</p><p>Erasmus thought for a long moment. He said, “I am not here because of duty, your Highness.”</p><p>
  <em>Even if I am angry at you right now, I care for you. I care for your happiness, and the happiness of your children. </em>
</p><p>Laurent’s expression crumpled for an instant before he recovered, taking a deep shuddering breath, and nodding as though he needed to remind himself how to speak.</p><p>He said, clear and commanding and fragile as glass, “Erasmus, I have written to Prince Torveld of Patras this morning. If not for your quick thinking during a very difficult labor, things,” his voice cracked, and he struggled to get it under control, “things might have turned out very differently. In my eyes, as well as Exalted’s, you are responsible for saving the life of a king. That demands commendation. You will always be welcome in Akielos, and Vere.”</p><p>Erasmus blinked owlishly. He could think of no proper response, so he just stammered, “T-thank you, your Highness.”</p><p>Erasmus saw the praise for what it was: an apology. By ensuring Erasmus’ reputation, he’d given him a safe haven in three separate kingdoms (though whether or not Erasmus would ever return to Vere was a different question entirely), as well as the means to support himself for the rest of his life. He’d told Erasmus, without needing to say anything outright, how much he meant to him. That he’d been speaking in anger when he said his mind wasn’t his own.</p><p>This was the kind of layered speak Erasmus knew intimately. He wasn’t sure he liked it anymore, but it would do for now.</p><p>Etienne peeked out from behind Kallias, hiding behind his legs. He blinked up in not quite obscured sadness, hand clenching reflexively at his doll.</p><p>It was different for a child, though – their minds had not the experience to know when an action was an <em>I’m sorry</em>for what words were not enough.</p><p>Laurent knelt, with great difficulty, to be at his eye level. Erasmus immediately put out a hand to steady him, and Laurent allowed him a small, grateful smile.</p><p>“Etienne,” Laurent whispered. “I am sorry that I left you alone. I am sorry that what I said in my own pain made you think you were responsible for it.”</p><p>Erasmus squeezed Laurent’s hand meaningfully, giving him a level stare.</p><p>Laurent pressed his lips into a thin, white line, and continued, “I am sorry that I threatened you. I will never hurt you. You do not deserve to be hurt, ever again.”</p><p>Immediately, with no hesitation or thought, Etienne snapped, “Uncle was right about you.”</p><p>The air rushed out of Laurent like he’d been punched in the gut. His eyes went wide, his face went pale and bloodless. Erasmus stood, terrified, for a moment. Then, with great pain, Laurent sat back on his heels and took in a rattling breath.</p><p>He reached out to gently cup Etienne’s cheeks, and he pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.</p><p>Etienne’s eyes filled with tears. He sniffled, wiping at them angrily.</p><p>In that moment, Erasmus understood something more about Laurent, about the way he interacted with the world, with the people around him – the way he retreated to the things he’d done for years to cope with his pain and terror. Erasmus wanted to wrap himself around Laurent and cry, holding him tight, swallowed up by the shared grief of their respective boyhood trauma.</p><p>Erasmus had been so much older, but he still thought the Veretian court somehow marked the end of his childhood.</p><p>“I don’t want you to grow up like I did,” Laurent said, as though he and the child were the only two people in the world. “I don’t want you to be lonely. I just need so much help, and that’s… That’s uncle’s fault.”</p><p>“He was good to me,” Etienne sobbed.</p><p>“He wasn’t,” Laurent whispered. “You <em>know</em> he wasn’t.”</p><p>When Etienne didn’t respond, still crying, Laurent held his arms open tentatively. Etienne fell into them, clinging as hard as his tiny arms would let him.</p><p>Kallias’ hand was warm on Erasmus’ low back.</p><p>Eventually, Etienne and Laurent pulled apart, though Etienne’s hand still stayed clasped in Laurent’s.</p><p>Erasmus took Laurent’s other hand to help him rise back up from the floor. Laurent squeezed it, turning to him.</p><p>He said, “I don’t know how long it takes for it to be over.”</p><p>Erasmus swallowed. Deciding to be daring just a little longer, he pressed a gentle kiss to Laurent’s cheek – reverent, layered with understanding. He thought he might cry, but he forced it down, and said, “I hope… I hope one day you find out, your Highness.”</p><p>Laurent took in a breath, the tears falling from his own eyes. “I wish the same for you,” he whispered, sounding absolutely shattered.</p><p>He shook his head, putting up a wall between his pain and the outside world. Erasmus knew he needed it just to <em>survive </em>from day to day, and it hurt him more than any physical pain.</p><p>“I’d like to be alone with my babies,” Laurent commanded. With Etienne’s hand in his own, it didn’t shake as strongly.</p><p>Erasmus nodded. He’d be in the palace for a little while longer; he’d see Laurent again. After all, he’d found he liked to be <em>daring</em>. To let people in.</p><p>Kallias slipped his arm through Erasmus’ bent elbow and lead him out of the room.</p><p>Damen burst through the door at that moment, breathing hard, sagging with relief when he saw Laurent smiling up at his appearance, leaning over the babies.</p><p>As the door closed behind them, Erasmus turned back one more time to see the way Damen took Laurent’s chin in his hands tenderly lifting his pale face up towards the morning sun.</p><p>Even after everything, Laurent was not alone -</p><p>And neither was he.</p>
<hr/><p>Honesty was one of the most difficult things in the world for him.</p><p>But Laurent bore it, miserably, and said, “Damen, I don’t think I was ready to have children.”</p><p>Damen bit his lip. He said, “Laurent…”</p><p><em>He’s going to leave me. He’s angry and he’s going to leave me</em>.</p><p>Laurent spat out, “Uncle threatened to bleed the babies out of me. I should have let him. I should never have let this happen.”</p><p>Damen sucked in a breath, eyes widening, and suddenly the moment of terror was over. Damen had been so gentle, so kind with him this whole time – why had Laurent ever assumed that Damen was going to be unkind to him now? It was always like this, a left over trauma response, Laurent trying to push people away because he was terrified of them hurting him first.</p><p>He’d been so close to taking the herbs he’d read about after the trial and getting rid of them before his stomach even started to swell. It had only been his desire for a life with Damen that and changed his mind, and now-</p><p>Laurent’s eyes filled with tears. He cried, miserably, “I’m sorry, Damen. I’m so sorry. I don’t want to keep <em>hurting people</em>.”</p><p>Damen’s expression deepened. In his eyes was confusion, pain, and a deep, primal sadness that he would never understand Laurent completely. He kissed Laurent’s forehead, scenting him thoroughly, and the fresh bond mark pulsed with warmth. This said more than words ever could.</p><p>In the absence of something clear he could do, he picked up little Etienne the same way Laurent picked up the babies. Etienne giggled and wrapped his arms around Damen’s neck. The baby cooed in Laurent’s arms, his twin gurgling in the crib as Laurent scented them both thoroughly.</p><p>Laurent took a deep breath and continued, “I can’t change things now, though. Damen, I’m going to do my best.” Tears dripped down his pale cheeks, and he swallowed, blinking desperately. “I promise, I’ll do my best.”</p><p>Damen ran his thumb tenderly along the sharp, pale line of Laurent’s jaw.</p><p>“I know you will,” Damen said. “You will have all the help a king might need. You’ll have my love for all of eternity.”</p><p>Laurent smiled, softly, bouncing the baby in his arms.</p><p>He said, “I think I know what I want to name them.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>&gt;:3c</p></blockquote></div></div>
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